On the left side of their desk - a drawer,
in the old apartment where they used to live.
All they wished forgotten,
stuck within the empty space,
out of sight and out of mind.
A cigarette - the longing of a love not found,
a blister pack of vitamins -
a cure for previous misjudgments,
a ruler with no measurements to govern,
and a cluster of cables,
their tangled thoughts in concrete form.
They cluttered me with buried memories,
deemed unworthy by someone
until one day,
when least expected,
it was full of all of me.
My friend, we now have so much in common,
I've made myself an archive of your pain,
every time you pulled my face
you fed me more than I could chew,
so I shrieked,
and wondered:
Could I have surpassed their given design
and been perhaps another object
or was I surely all along
meant to be
what others made of me.
Alas, I've lost my misguided patience
but in the end
I’m finally willing
to not open my face for you
any longer.